


Grief

by shackalacklargebottom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 16:49:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shackalacklargebottom/pseuds/shackalacklargebottom
Summary: “Sometimes, I think to myself, ‘why couldn’t it have been me? I wish it had been me instead.’” He inhaled sharply; his voice quivered as he exhaled and continued. “Then I think, I would never put him through this… For him, it’s all over. There’s no pain. There’s no pain anymore. There’s no anything anymore."





	Grief

The warm glow from the fire and gentle smell of roasting pumpkin spread throughout The Burrow, making the tiny kitchen seem more magical still. On the fire, a cauldron of soup stirred itself with a large, wooden spoon, as carrots, celery and other vegetables diced themselves in sync with the neat flicks of Molly Weasley’s wand. Then, with one last wave, they splashed themselves into the cauldron. Smiling gently in approval, Mrs. Weasley turned then to her daughter-in-law, Fleur, who was finishing up the decorations around the rest of The Burrow. With a wide sweep of her wand, Fleur put the final touch on the Christmas tree; the tips of its needles turned as silvery as if they’d been freshly dusted with snow.

            “Very nice, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley affectionately.

            “ ’Zank you, Molly,” Fleur lilted, as Bill, Harry, Arthur and Ron tramped back inside the tiny Burrow, each shaking themselves off brusquely to ward off the chill from outdoors.

            “Nearly ready then, eh, Mum?” Ron said cheerfully, sidling around his brother, father and sister-in-law to shamelessly nick a pumpkin biscuit right from under his mother’s nose.

            “Almost,” Mrs. Weasley agreed. Soft footsteps were heard on the landing above the kitchen, and Ginny and Hermione popped into view, each sporting a thick, knobbly, hand-knit sweater. Bill, brushing the snowflakes from his own lumpy sweater, ducked into the kitchen and wrapped one arm around Fleur’s slender shoulders. Hermione permitted Ron to kiss her, just once, and Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny from behind, breathing in the flowery scent of her flaming red hair. “Ginny, dear, go check on George, will you?” said Mrs. Weasley, “he’s supposed to be helping me-”

            The house then rattled and shook; there was a loud explosion from the cellar beneath their feet, and an instant later George appeared, coughing and brushing soot from his hair as a large cloud of neon blue smoke billowed out from behind him. “Sorry, Mum, sorry! It was the Billywig stings again, I was only trying to-”

            But Mrs. Weasley had already exploded, “IF THIS HOUSE GETS BLOWN UP ONE MORE TIME, YOU TWO ARE GOING TO-”

            There was an audible gasp from Ginny, Hermione clapped both hands over her mouth, and Bill’s eyes widened in shock. Behind them, Ron choked and sprayed crumbs all over the Harry’s back. Eyes welling with tears, Mrs. Weasley said weakly, “George… George, dear, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…”

            George was already gone, sprinting up the crooked staircase to the room he had once shared… He flung open the door and threw himself down on the bottom bunk, the bed that was always his, since the top was always reserved for…

            “George?” A small, timid voice called his name from the crack between the door and the wall.

            “P-please, Gin… Not n-now…” George spat, voice heaving with sobs that he tried in vain to force back down his throat.

            “George…” Ginny creaked open the door just a hair, enough to peer, one-eyed, into the room. George clutched his pillow tighter to his chest, curling into a ball on his mattress. Ginny crept across the small room, over the piles of dirty robes and crumpled  _Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes_  order forms, and sat herself gingerly next to her older brother. George bit his lip to keep from crying outright, but as Ginny laid a hand on his shoulder, he felt the hot tears release and course down his face. Then, finally:

            “Fred…” George whispered, and the very sound of his twin’s name brought forth still more tears, harder and faster than they had come before. Ginny, too, brushed a tear of her own away. “George… I can’t imagine what it feels like. I mean, I miss him terribly too, but…” Ginny trailed off to let George’s grieve quietly for a while. Finally, George sat up, still shaking a bit.

            “I’m sorry, Gin…” he muttered. Ginny wormed her way beneath his arm, wrapping her arms tight around his waist in a fierce hug. George wiped the last of his tears away with one hand, then breathed, “It’s just… it’s the first Christmas without him, you know? It-” There he had to stop, for the tears were dangerously close to spilling forth again.

            “I know,” Ginny said quietly.

            George continued on softly, eyeing the ground as though his mind were in a different place altogether. “Sometimes, I think to myself, ‘why couldn’t it have been me? I wish it had been me instead.’” He inhaled sharply; his voice quivered as he exhaled and continued. “Then I think, I would never put him through this… For him, it’s all over. There’s no pain. There’s no pain anymore. There’s no  _anything_ anymore. But me… Gin, it’s like there a gaping hole in my chest. All the time. It never heals, it never gets any better. You know how, when people lose an arm or a leg, they have that phantom-limb syndrome? They think they can still feel whatever part they lost. It’s the same for me, Gin. I keep expecting to feel him walking just behind me, or when  I say something, I listen for him to say the same thing at the same time, the way we used to.”

            George shook his head and looked down at his little sister, staring up at him with wide wet brown eyes. “Thing is, I’m not a “we” anymore, Gin. My whole life, I’ve been part of a “we”, part of an “us”… But with Fred gone, I have to just be “me” now… And I’ve no idea how.”

            There was a cough from the doorway as Ron thrust his head through the crack, looking mulish. “Mum wanted me to… uh… you know, I’ll just tell her you’re busy…” he stammered, turning pink about the ears. Ginny glared fiercely at him, but George smirked for a fleeting instant. He squeezed Ginny’s shoulder. “I’ll be alright Gin. Go on downstairs. Mum and everyone’s waiting.”

            “George-”

            “Go on,” he said, getting up and shooing her out of the room. She gave an exasperated sigh before traipsing lightly back down the stairs again. Back in his bedroom, George gave himself one last fleeting look in his old mirror, gazing back at his own face; the face he hated because it was so like his brother’s, and yet loved for the exact same reason. Then, with a sigh, he turned on his heel and Apparated downstairs. Fred would never forgive him if he stopped giving their mother grief, after all.


End file.
